Why did it have to be her? Any woman he didn't have some turbulent history with and he might have been able to pull this off. But no, out of the seven billion people on the planet, he ended up with her. A sickening coincidence. He insisted it was a coincidence, at least, because it otherwise implied he was meant to be in her life, for better or worse. Whether it meant being at each other's throats or in each other's beds. Sometimes he felt a neutral sort of resignation. So what if she didn't know every gritty detail of who he was? Did anyone truly divulge everything they were to another person? He could accept her affection, he could deal with being doted on by someone so beautiful. Then those thoughts suddenly disgusted him. This was not the kind of life he was meant for, so bland and boring. He was meant to be important, meant to be known. And he certainly was not meant for her. To submit to this world and all its mediocrity meant to erase everything he'd worked so hard to achieve. Was he really willing to do that in return for the occasional comforting word, a loving touch here and there?
She kept asking him about how he felt. Sometimes direct queries and sometimes other methods she must've thought were subtler but really weren't. He kept composure, tried to think of it as a challenge to himself to be as neutral as possible. But it was so hard to carry on with. She left him completely confused, anguishing over whether or not this was an improvement on his life or not. He clung still so tightly to his hatred of her, this last link to his real life. It didn't make anything easier, though. He'd slipped up badly the day before, and she wasn't going to let it go without talking it out. Because that's what normal, healthy people did in their relationships.
He'd never really had one of those. Once his whole life had imploded before he even made it to adulthood, he'd decided that marriage was a waste of time. Being alone was fine, and more often than not, he'd find something insufferable about another person, anyway. And there was a lot he found insufferable about her. He tried to keep that in mind. It was something easier to remember after a day's worth of plane flights with her. A day of traveling to go spend more time with her friends, people who also should've hated him but now, at the very least, tolerated him.
He definitely didn't want to be here. His encounter with the pair of men he'd killed told him that he couldn't adjust to such a normal life. All of this 'averageness' was driving him mad, and that taste of excitement only served to make its absence felt more sharply. It was also a reminder that, chances were, threat after threat would be sent his way. How long could he live like that? Paranoid, anxious, scared? He knew what he was capable of, that he wasn't going to die without a spectacular fight. But he also knew of Bison's resources, his tenacity, and the fact that Shadaloo was much more powerful in this world made his chances of survival slim. He could take on Dolls, he could take on interrogators and kidnappers. But a bomb? A virus? How could he protect himself against things like that?
Such thoughts had dominated most of his day, if not all of it. The plane, he'd convinced himself, could have a bomb on it, or maybe the pilot had been replaced by a Shadaloo plant to drive it into the ground. That made Chun-Li's attempts at talking to him about his feelings so much more annoying. Yes, he wanted to have a good cry on her shoulder when they could be consumed in a ball of thousand degree flaming jet fuel at any moment.
Obviously that hadn't happened. He'd been so frightened and sure that he would die on that plane, stepping on solid ground had been like breathing fresh air again. She'd noticed his anxiety and, of course, interpreted it as something personal. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she went back to her old self. Until he saw some kind of determination and fire back in her eyes, until she declared she didn't give a damn about his feelings, until she was chasing him down again across the rooftops of a city with a pair of handcuffs waiting for him.
The next obstacle had been the hotel room. The place was obviously not cheap, being in the middle of downtown, but he remembered Ken was not exactly hurting for money either. He couldn't remember what it was the man did for a living-if anything-but it didn't really interested him. In spite of his own personal wealth, he cared little for money and rank, having witnessed men with both abuse them too often for his liking. Money and power were an ugly combination, and they made people do ugly things.
At first, he thought to check the place over thoroughly. Even if the rooms had been reserved by Ken, he couldn't be sure what the hotel's register would say. The best way to fix the problem was to request a new room. He made up a complaint about the place smelling bad. Chun-Li insisted that it didn't, but seemed too tired to argue about it. A room was a room, after all. They were in a different one maybe ten minutes after they'd arrived, and he thought that could buy him some time. If the place was wired to blow, at least, he wouldn't be in it when it happened. But if there was someone here with the intention of killing him by hand, it was just a setback, not a solution. He was delighted to find he woke up the next morning still very much alive. He'd survived a day of possible-whether real or imagined-murder attempts and emotional interrogation. A first for him. He supposed she had the sense to not want to air their dirty laundry in public, and after all the traveling she'd been too tired to push the issue. Today would hopefully provide little opportunity for her to bother him.
There were more of her friends around this time. He was almost surprised to see Ryu in such a setting, though the man still wore a gi in spite of the weather. There was a teenager with him whom he'd first assumed was a younger sister. Her name was Sakura, and he found her sort of cute. Her enthusiasm was refreshing, if a bit much at times, but he figured she would mellow out with age and eventually blossom into a pretty woman someday.
Ken was a bit eager to show them the reception hall they'd rented, and asked everyone to meet him there so they 'knew where it was'. The place was just a large, empty room in a brick building, set on a small beach. It was still a far cry from Barcelona, and he despaired at the thought of how long it'd been since he'd been home. How long it might be before he ever saw it again.
It was Sakura who, after playing with her echo for a moment, declared, "This place would be great to spar in." He tried not to roll his eyes. Did these people think of anything besides martial arts?
"Not quite big enough for many spectators," Chun-Li put in.
"That's okay, we can call it a private match," Sakura said, and she took a stance in front of Ken. "Come on, pre-wedding challenge!"
Ken laughed and shook his head. "Nah, sorry, I think Eliza would kill me if I got scuffed up with all the pictures we'll be taking later."
"That's a bit of an advanced match-up for you, anyway, Sakura," Ryu added. She was good, but a bit too eager sometimes, and he wasn't so sure how great Ken was at pulling punches. Ken hadn't taught as much as Ryu had, if at all, and he worried over what kind of accidents might happen if he tried to give Sakura a decent challenge.
"Fine, Sakura, you can fight Andres, how about that?" Ken said with a lopsided grin.
Vega narrowed his eyes at that. "Don't take it personally, florecita. He's afraid of you."
"I know it!" she said. But curious as ever, she asked, "Do you have any martial arts experience?"
He raised his eyebrows, caught in a tough spot. He didn't want to come off as weak, but saying yes might require proof, given the way these people loved a good fight. He recalled telling Guile that he hadn't been in a fight before engaging Satsuki. But then someone spoke for him. "He must be pretty decent," he heard Dorai say. "You held your own against those Dolls, and that's no easy feat."
Vega shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. "Maybe it was dumb luck."
"Well, come on then, my scrawny artist friend," Ken said, grinning. "Let's see."
"Oh, come on," Chun-Li sighed, rolling her eyes. "He's not scrawny, you meathead. Don't pick on him like that."
"It's fine," Vega said. He didn't need her to defend him. He was perfectly capable of that himself, and he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to beat Ken Master's face in. Especially if it ended up recorded forever in his wedding photos.
"I'm a bit curious myself," Dorai put in, holding a hand up at Ken before turning his eyes to Vega. "Do you mind?"
That was a little different. He'd never met the man before, had no idea how capable he was. He had to be in his fifties and it seemed like cheating to beat on an old man in a fight. But then, he didn't particularly care for the slight and subtle suspicion Dorai seemed to often treat him with. So he shrugged, figuring at the very least he could take it easier on him than he would a regular opponent. Just for the sake of appearances. He nodded, shrugging off the jacket.
"Ohh, gettin' serious," Ken said, crossing his arms.
"Not that serious," Chun-Li said, a bit embarrassed. She was a little frustrated with her dad for initiating this, and a bit frustrated with Andres for going along with it. They were going to end up hurting each other, she knew it.
"Okay, I want a good, clean, fight. An awesome one would be good too," Ken said. "And...go!" Ken clapped, expecting the two men to explode into action. Neither did so, glancing over at Ken with different expressions that both meant the same thing-my God, what a mouth on this one.
"Just say the word, and I'll stop, all right?" Dorai offered amicably. Vega would've laughed. It wasn't likely the man was going to come away from this uninjured, but he'd do his best to avoid causing too much of a problem.
"Y tú, también." He was a little unsure of where to start, neither of them rushing the other.
Dorai must've felt a degree of uncertainty, too. So Vega kicked high, aiming for the side of the man's head, but he didn't do it nearly fast enough to warrant any kind of concern over an injury. Dorai blocked it easily. "Nice form," he said. adding mentally, for someone who doesn't know anything about martial arts, especially.
"Come on, let's see those lightning legs, old man," Ken jeered.
Dorai smiled self-consciously but didn't give in to the request yet. Vega watched him carefully, noting the similarities between his forms and Chun-Li's. The fluid motions that seemed to ripple from the shoulder, down to the elbow, to the wrist, even out to his fingers as he struck forward. Vega blocked with a forearm, went for a reversal, and had the man by the arm. Dorai turned his arm in Vega's hand so that he could grip Vega back, locked tight, and swept a foot forward, moving a bit quicker now. Vega pulled both of his feet off the ground and yanked Dorai into his knee. He didn't miss it when the man grunted quietly, and they released each other. "You're quicker than you let on," Dorai said finally. "Come on, don't hold back. I'm not that frail."
"I'm thinking I could say the same to you," Vega responded in a low voice, like the conversation needed to stay between them. He didn't like the way the man talked down to him. Not with outright condescension, but like he was humoring a child. Dorai nodded, and Vega found himself dodging a series of quick kicks, though not nearly as fast as Chun-Li. Still refraining from fighting as hard as he could. So maybe, Vega decided, he needed to make him let loose. Dorai's foot returned to the ground, never landing one of the kicks. No sense in stopping, Vega thought, so he returned one of his own. Dorai caught his leg, and Vega used his momentum to pull the other up, landing a blow to the side of the man's head. Dorai aimed low this time, leg striking out at about knee-height. Vega stepped back, then again as the next strike came.
A fist flew towards his face. He ducked. One more, he backed up. Another, he blocked. Another struck him in the ribs, harder now. The man's arms were nearly as fast as his legs, making two fists seem more like a flurry, and Vega was forced to wait out the assault, taking step after step backwards. He realized what Dorai was doing, trying to get him against the wall, but it wasn't an issue. When he felt the brick against his heel, he jumped, pushed off the wall, and was flipping over Dorai's head before the man could react. He slid a little more than he liked as he landed, but corrected himself, sweeping a low kick at the man's ankles.
"Oh!" he heard Sakura cry. "I want to learn how to do that, Ryu-san!"
Chun-Li uttered a few choice words of her own, now somewhere between embarrassed and shocked. Andres wasn't exactly a lazy wimp, but he definitely was not a seasoned martial artist. This display was the last thing she expected out of him. She remembered Guile's warning, that she might not know her boyfriend as well as she thought. This fight, combined with all of the other strange things he'd done lately, was like a dose of reality that she didn't want to take.
Dorai was moving a lot quicker now, and Vega found himself hard pressed to keep up. The man was definitely faster than Chun-Li, and stronger, too. He did what he could to avoid taking a hit, but it became nearly impossible to return a blow of his own. Suddenly, Dorai's foot slammed into Vega's thigh to prevent the kick he saw coming. Vega couldn't stop himself from crying out as pain rushed from the knife wound there. The blow ruffled the gauzy dressing, he could feel part of it slip away from its position, and he ducked back, trying not to put too much weight to that leg. He hadn't wanted the man to notice, but it was too late. "Are you alright?" Dorai asked.
Vega bit his tongue but nodded, waving him on.
"Maybe you should take it easy," Ryu said in his frustratingly calm and even voice. "You're bleeding."
At that, Dorai stood up, abandoning his fighting stance, a look of concern passing over his face. Vega couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. Chun-Li said something in Chinese in what Vega thought was a frustrated tone. Dorai said something back, and Chun-Li sighed loudly before taking Vega by the arm. "Come here!" she said, plainly angry, though Vega hadn't decided about what yet. He shrugged her off, but followed, knowing, at least, he needed to change his clothes now.
Vega didn't get a chance to say anything, having to keep up with Chun-Li, who was probably calling a cab. How was he supposed to know the man was going to be such a challenge?
"My dad didn't do that to you, did he?" She spoke in a sharp tone that made it clear she already knew the answer, so he didn't respond. "What happened?"
"Someone on the train," he said. Telling her it'd been another Shadaloo operative seemed like it'd just cause more problems. He obviously couldn't tell her he'd killed his assailants. And enjoyed every second of it.
"You didn't think I'd want to know that someone stabbed you?" she said, and she seemed angrier than he'd ever seen her so far.
"I wasn't stabbed," he corrected.
"Lacerated!What difference does it make?!"
He shrugged, supposing it didn't make much of one, but he'd jumped at the opportunity to correct her. "I didn't want you to be worried," he tried, thinking maybe that would calm her down. It didn't.
"If someone's hurt you, I want to be worried!" She threw out her arms as she said it before crossing them over her chest and turning away from him. "You're so stupid sometimes! Both of you!" She waved a hand back to the reception hall, referring to her dad. He took in a breath through his nose, teeth grinding to prevent himself from calling her a few things in return. "You're both so-so-" She groaned, unable to finish the sentence and shook her hands. The sound of a car approaching made her go quiet. The ride back to the hotel was a tense one, and even the cab driver picked up on it, keeping to himself. He should've come back to the room on his own and let her yell at her dad instead.
He dreaded every step that took him closer to the room, but ultimately knew this was unavoidable. He watched as she opened the door, that fire he'd been wishing for earlier burning in her eyes. "There are so many things, I don't even know where to start," she all but snapped as she stepped inside. He didn't respond. "I feel like I don't even know who you are right now."
Again, he ignored her, unwilling to get into that conversation. He dug through his bag, trying to stay focused on treating the agitated injury.
"Why won't you talk to me?" she asked. The words were said with the weight of someone having held them in for a long time. Like they were finally bursting out because she couldn't keep them in anymore. "For the past couple of weeks, it feels like you've barely spoken to me."
"It's not a good time."
"Will there ever be a 'good time'?" she asked, plainly annoyed with his dismissive and uninterested tone.
"Maybe!" If he could switch back somehow, find his bizarre, idiot other-self who thought life was worth living with Chun-Li Xiang, then yes, there'd be a good time again. Let him have all the 'talks' and 'discussions'.
He cried out as the realization of such a possibility struck him. How had he been so oblivious? If he was here, in this weird, screwed up place, did that mean someone was making a show of being him in the real world? This version of him wasn't prepared for that kind of life. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and desperately wished there was some way to know what was going on, why this had happened, if it had happened or if he was just completely insane and making it all up. Could he figure out how to fix this on his own? Had he imagined his entire 'other' life?
"Andres?"
Her voice startled him, and he'd all but forgotten she was there. "What?" he asked.
"Please, talk to me. I'm worried about you," she said. It wasn't a demand anymore, but almost a plea, and he hated it. She shouldn't be pleading, ever. She was too strong and beautiful for that kind of behavior.
"Don't beg," he said sharply. "It doesn't suit you."
"What am I supposed to do if you won't answer me otherwise?"
"Stop asking," he said, like it should've been obvious. He'd let her distract him long enough. Pulling off his pants, he let out an irritated breath at the sight of the blood on his leg.
He knew she was watching him. Her voice got a bit softer when she spoke. "I can't do that when you're acting so strangely."
He wanted to tell her that she was the one who wasn't acting right. With all her concerns and worries. Her only concern should've been Shadaloo. Like his was now. How ironic. He laughed bitterly at that, and it seemed to upset her further.
"Andres. Please?"
Something about the sad and desperate way she said his name-his real name, the name his mother would have called him by if she was still alive-tipped him over. He looked her in the eyes and told her every unbelievable thing about his situation, but he did it all in Spanish. She watched him as he spoke heatedly, hands gesturing, head shaking from time to time. He told her that he didn't belong here, that he didn't want this life and he was sure of that. He told her how things should've been, that he killed people for a living and sometimes just for fun because it felt like they deserved it and he wasn't sure if that made him fucked up or something of a god, to decide people's fates that way. That he worked for Shadaloo, the terrorist organization that wasn't supposed to be any bigger than a small town, and that it was supposed to be her life's work to stop them. That she was beautiful but that he hated her with every ounce of his heart. Maybe it was because he was bitter that it seemed like her life was better than his in spite of their comparable situations, or maybe it was because he knew he couldn't have her and that she didn't want him to begin with and he did not deal well with rejection. He hated to admit to either one of those possibilities. It was easier to not question things, to just feel them, but this was forcing him to do so. "¿Vale?" he said finally, taking a deep breath after finishing the rant she didn't understand more than the occasional word of. "Vale vale vale," he muttered, waving a hand at her before disappearing into the bathroom.Some of it felt good to say, some of it he hated to even acknowledge.
"Well," she finally said. appearing at the door, "I'm not going to get that in English, am I?"
"No." He paused, thinking it was a blessing that she didn't seem to understand any of it. He'd gathered she didn't speak Spanish, and he supposed that wasn't so strange. Maybe she'd picked up a few words here and there from being around him, but he knew how difficult it could be to follow a conversation in a foreign language that you only knew some words of. The fact that he'd been so pissed off and spoke so quickly would've only made it more difficult for her.
"It's not really talking if you do it in a way that I can't understand."
He laughed at her, peeling away the ruined and bloodied bandages. She took a page from his book, throwing out a hand and shouting at him in Chinese. It made him smile, because it was more in line with what he was used to. He thought of times he'd taunted her to the point of exploding, and she'd shout like this. So angry she couldn't form an English sentence for a moment. "Okay?!" she cried finally.
"Vale."
"You're so frustrating! I just want you to talk to me! Like you used to!"
"I'm sure I used to do a lot of things," he said, amused now more than annoyed and a part of him realized he enjoyed seeing her so angry. It made him feel better to be calm and collected while someone else exploded. He wondered briefly over what the hotel would do with a bloody washcloth before deciding he didn't care, and pressed it against his leg.
"Yes!"
"Like what?"
At that she blinked a little quicker than normal. "I don't know," she said, still annoyed with him. "Before, I didn't feel like I was bothering you every time I spoke to you. I felt like you wanted to hear what I had to say, even the most trivial things. You talked to me more. You were honest and open."
Maybe if he let her talk, she'd just move on already and stop bothering him. Maybe he could get through it all without having to say much. "What else?"
She watched him in the mirror as he pulled the cloth away from his leg. She frowned at the sight of the blood, at that gash in his leg that he never even told her about. "Lately you seem like an entirely different person."
"So what if I am?"
That made her turn to face him, and he was already looking at her. She studied him, thought about how bizarre it was that a person could have the same face they'd always had but still look so different. He had colder eyes, seemed less expressive in general, less warm, even his smiles had a strange quality to them. Like they were all forced or cynical. "I don't know," she said finally. "I don't know if you're just stressed or..." She didn't want to finish. But how could she expect him to talk to her when she could barely finish her own sentences? So she forced herself to say what she thought of his behavior. "You just remind me of how you were when your mom died." She sat on the edge of the bath tub, glancing at him for a reaction.
There was little outward sign of how he'd taken her statement. "How was I, when she died?" he asked and his voice even sounded strange to her now. Mechanical, or stoic.
"Off in your own world." She took a breath, finding it suddenly difficult to continue. But it'd make her feel worse to keep it to herself. "Sometimes, when you were asleep-the little bit of time you'd give yourself, anyway-your mom and I would sit together. Usually we watched movies or shows, or just read. The language barrier made it hard to have much of a conversation." He listened patiently, the mention of his mother now having taken up all of his attention. "She told me that you were like her. That loving someone so much could be hard on people like you. How, when your father died, it devastated her, but she still had you. She was afraid of what her death was going to do to you." His eyebrows drew together, but he still didn't say anything. She took the balled up cloth from him, straightened it out, folded it properly, and pressed it back against his leg. "She asked me, 'please, please, help him.' I promised I would be there for you." She stopped, glancing at him. "But now I feel like you don't want me to be."
He relaxed his jaw, not realizing how hard he'd been biting into his own tongue. He thought of how terrifying it must be for a person to realize they're going to die. How much stronger his mother was than him to be able to face that and think of his well-being instead of lamenting her own end. But she was right. He was like her, and he had loved her so much that her death had torn him apart. He had nothing if he didn't have her. He thought of her and his father, and would things have really been so much better for him if the man hadn't abandoned them? Why had he to begin with? What had changed here?
"No," he said finally, thinking of what Chun-Li had allegedly promised his mother. It sounded so surreal to think of that woman meeting his mother, much less speaking to her. For the sake of his alternate self, for the sake of his mother's memory, he had to cooperate. "No, I do." Maybe he didn't. But this wasn't entirely his life. There had to be a way to fix this, and if his other self was so happy with her, what good was he doing to sabotage that?
They were both quiet for a moment. She didn't feel fully convinced by his words, and he was still mulling over what she'd said about his mom. "I get it if you don't feel like talking now," she said. "I just really hope that changes."
"I'm trying," he muttered. "Trust me."
"Well...if there's anything I can do to help-"
"No," he said quickly, and saying she felt discouraged by that would be an understatement. She was certain at first he'd abandoned the medication he was meant to take, and she couldn't figure out how to say it to him. The thought of how aggressive he'd been lately made her hesitant to bring the subject of his illness up, but she knew it didn't do either of them any good to ignore it. After the fight with her dad however, she was beginning to think that what was going on was something bigger than that. That he'd been hiding something for a long time, and it was going to catch up with him. With them. And she didn't have words for how much that frightened her.
